


In Hushed Whispers

by Schlemiel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Multi, Self harm warning kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:24:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schlemiel/pseuds/Schlemiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right off the bat I'll confirm that this has nothing to do with Dragon Age, I just listened to the In Hushed Whispers score piece and thought it was a fitting song and title. Sorry for any confusion~</p><p>This is a short monologue from my vampire, argonian Dragonborn named Rasharaz. Unlike Lily in my other work, Rasharaz is the evil, power-hungry, bloodthirsty Dragonborn type. I know there isn't much violence in this piece, but just in case I added the warning.<br/>I might turn this into another fanfic, but for now it's just an intro that I wanted to write!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hushed Whispers

It’s an ache you learn to live with. The way that the urge creeps up your veins. It always starts at the fingertips and the lips. Then it slowly surrounds you, moving with a pulsing throb as the need paints every one of your veins. It’s a sickness and you have no choice but to let it consume you. 

And then your bones hurt, and your blood boils. I know that the fangs stopped growing in years ago, but every time it still feels like they grow more and more. Every step is just a little heavier, every sound just a little louder. There are those that rightfully fear us, wrongfully desire us, and bravely fight against us. And all three are wrong in their own rights. For a while I feared myself, and wanted to fight myself. But my blood does not want to die, and it will not let me. 

No matter how often I try to take a blade to myself, let myself die in the final seconds of a battle, or even go as far as going against my own biology and drowning myself--it does not let me win. This affliction has taken over my senses, and it controls my will to live whether I want it to or not. 

It’s an ache you learn to live with, and it takes time. Much more than I thought it would. I didn’t want to give up the sun and the way the heat would melt into me, but I had to. There was a fight for it; I would be willing to face the throbbing headache and the burns on my skin just to feel the sun again. Sometimes it still happens, but there are some fights you know you can’t win, no matter how much you want to. 

Some enjoy it. They enjoy the lust for blood, the way that it enhances every sense and every primal need. They go and hunt, feed, mate, kill, fight. They allow their blood to take control, which is something I cannot find myself able to do. It’s been far too long since I’ve allowed my mind to guide me, and it happened too fast.

The vampire left as soon as it bit me. I didn’t know what had happened. I was looking at the stars and they seemed to entomb me as I felt the warm blood freeze around my neck and between my teeth. It took me some time to notice that my wrist and leg was bleeding as well; I now understand that ravenous hunger that inhibits you from any control. Then it was dark for a long time, and I had never felt colder. I heard voices pass by once, but they did nothing to help me. Instead I was left alone to die, and that’s what I did. 

I was left alone to die, and I never fully came back. What was once my ambition became my thirst for blood. What was once whatever love I had in me turned into a dark romance with killing anything that moved. 

It’s an ache you learn to live with. I can see the way people look at me. The way that children run, and guards hold their hand on the hilt of their sword. There are some that don’t mind me, and those are ones I tolerate. I don’t know whether they ignore the red eyes and fangs, or they just don’t care. The line between foolish and brave doesn’t really exist. 

Yet I know better. I know better than to mistake my reluctance for flat refusal. For a long time I’ve felt inferior, felt like I needed to be more. But I never had that power. It happened only seven years ago, when I was alone surviving the bitter cold that--cold that bothered me at the time.

Maybe it was a good thing, I tell myself. After I awoke I found myself in a lair in a strange land called Skyrim. And then I saw the dragon, and then I was speaking with The Greybeards, found an Elder Scroll, and I fought the World Eater in a place of the dead. 

And people bowed to me. They would greet me with triumph, honor and praise. They recognized the power I held over them and I loved it. I dived into power and sought all the shouts, weapons and fights I could find. It seemed to give me some solace for a time. My mind would stray from the need for blood into the need for power, but to me they’re one in the same now. 

And then they all found out. That their precious hero of the Dragonborn was a bloodthirsty, ravenous lizard who killed their loved ones at night. Power is one thing to have. But the power to be feared is another. Respect and obedience comes out of fear. 

But at the end of the night I know. When I finally sink into the comfiest place I can find and wait for the sun to rise, I always know. I know that if I could take it back and be the Dragonborn in the stories, I might. It burns me and blinds me every morning, but watching the sun rise over the mountains I’ve grown to call home is something I learn to tolerate. 

It’s an ache you learn to live with. But until you’ve gone seven years without it, you don’t understand what it is to miss the sun.


End file.
